


Cry Wolf

by bloodyhands_and_hollowstars



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Murder, Serial Killers, Werewolf!Will, Werewolves, Werewolves Turn Into Actual Wolves, Will is a Werewolf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-03-19 17:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3617763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodyhands_and_hollowstars/pseuds/bloodyhands_and_hollowstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal is a hunter who frequents a forest where he catches a glimpse of a wolf one day. </p>
<p>Will Graham is a werewolf and a profiler helping with the case of the "Hunter", a cannibalistic serial killer. </p>
<p>In their search for each other, deadly secrets will be revealed and a game of cat and mouse begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hunter and the Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> This should end up being a long-ish, multi-chapter fic if all goes according to plan. 
> 
> Also, please note that I am, unlike Hannibal, most definitely not a murderer; all gory descriptions come from my experience hunting, cleaning, and butchering animals.

The shot rang out sharply through the still morning forest, piercing the calm and shattering the gentle sounds of birds conversing and the trees rustling. Hannibal smiled thinly, lowering his rifle from its perch on his shoulder, patting its polished wood stock fondly. It was a good, clean shot. His prey would die quickly. 

Slinging the firearm over his shoulder, the tall man began slowly making his way towards his prey, breathing in the fresh, dewy air as his feet crunched on slightly frosted grass and dead, crumbling leaves. A light mist drifted through the pale, coarse-barked trees, their dying leaves rustling and rattling with a slight breeze, a few coming loose and dancing downwards to land on the cold earth.

Hannibal was slightly disappointed, but not surprised, to see that his prey had already passed when he arrived, lying still in a rapidly cooling puddle of blood. It was rather entertaining to see the brief hope in their eyes when another human appeared, and the eventual horror and realization that Hannibal was not there to help. But it couldn’t be helped, the hunter thought as he bent down and examined the man. 

He was rather non-descript, brown hair, lightly tanned skin, mid-thirties, slightly balding, smile lines at the corners of his eyes, wearing cheap camouflage pants and shirt from a local superstore and a thin blaze orange vest and baseball cap, which had been knocked off his head by his convulsions when Hannibal’s bullet punctured the upper side of his right lung. The hunter smiled thinly- it had been a good shot. He did not need both lungs- no company was coming over in the near future.

Hannibal pulled on his elbow-length disposable rubber gloves and rolled the man onto his back before cutting his shirt apart and going to work on the body with his collection of knives. He always found the empty hiss from a punctured lung and the inevitable bloody froth from cold lips aesthetically pleasing, along with the thick, warm pool of blood that collected in the chest cavity as he carefully removed what organs he desired. 

If it was an animal, Hannibal would have cleaned out the carcass entirely and disposed of the guts elsewhere, but he simply left them spilling in slimy ropes across the frosty ground before moving further down the body and selecting a few cuts of meat to experiment with, avoiding as many major veins and arteries as he could to minimize the mess. 

When Hannibal had finished and had packed the meat in a cooler, he carefully wiped down the body for any possible forensic evidence left behind in the process. As he finished, his keen  hearing picked up a faint rustle behind him. Pretending not to hear anything, he slowly packed up his knives in a small, portable case and picked up his rifle, before spinning around suddenly, deep maroon eyes scanning the forest. They caught a flash of dark brown fur and pale gold eyes, about waist height to him, before the animal turned and vanished. 

Hannibal tilted his head, intrigued. He’d never encountered a wolf in these woods before.

☾  ☾  ☾ ☾ ☾

“It could have easily been you, Hannibal,” Jack Crawford said with concern, seated in Hannibal’s office, having come to notify the psychiatrist of the brutal murder in the forest he often frequented during hunting season. One would not expect such a cultured and suave man to be an avid hunter, nor suspected it from the lack of mounts, antlers, skins, and other trophies in his home and office. 

“It is a good thing I was busy that morning, then,” Hannibal said calmly, sitting opposite Jack, watching his face intently. “I was feeling rather unwell, but I am better now.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay, my friend,” Jack sighed, rubbing a hand over his face wearily. “I hope this isn’t a serial killer, and just a one-time thing.”

Hannibal shook his head. “If the murder had been conducted in a different manner, then maybe. But this will happen again. This wasn’t an accident. You said organs were removed?” 

Jack grimaced,  no doubt recalling the gory scene in his mind’s eye. “Shot in one lung, then partially bled out. The other lung, heart, liver, and some… meat from the legs.”

“It’s a cannibal,” Hannibal mused. “I don’t think these are surgical trophies.”

“I’m getting too old for this,” Jack muttered, before standing and extending a hand to Hannibal. “Thanks for giving me a minute. Be careful out there.”

Hannibal smiled. 

“Oh, I will.”

☾  ☾  ☾ ☾ ☾

Hannibal usually did not like waiting for animals to cross his path, and often looked down on the ‘hunters’ who merely sat in treestands and watched for prey they could shoot. But the curiosity he felt towards the wolf he had glimpsed encouraged him to break a few of his own rules, and he was sitting on a broad branch in a tree, watching for that dark fur. He’d spilled some blood from his prey at the base and some in the surrounding area, hoping to draw in the animal with the smell; presumably what had happened two days previously.

He was an infinitely patient man, and sat still for hours until the sun began to sink below the horizon. He was about to get up- visibility was getting low, and he had a few appointments that evening- when he saw a flash of movement. Freezing and focusing on the area, he barely breathed, waiting to see whatever it was that had moved.

After what seemed like an eternity, a sleek, dark head cautiously emerged from the underbrush, followed by a slender, muscular body, covered in slightly curly, thick, dark brown fur. The wolf glanced around warily with pale, luminous gold eyes, before scenting the air. 

He froze as he picked up a slight trace of Hannibal's scent, muscles coiling under his coat, eyes snapping up to meet Hannibal's, the fear in them morphing into confusion as the wolf saw that Hannibal wielded no weapon. Hannibal returned the wolf's gaze, maroon eyes meeting golden. He was fascinated by the keen intelligence he saw in the wolf's gaze, and unconsciously leaned forward, nearly unbalancing himself as he tried to see deeper into the animal's eyes. He could feel his carefully constructed veil of civility and humanity drop from his gaze.

The wolf drew back its lips in a silent snarl, eyes widening with new fear and shock, before it shook its ruff and vanished back into the woods with a swish of its tail. Hannibal smiled slightly as he descended from the tree stand, still seeing those pale eyes in his mind. This was no ordinary wolf.

☾  ☾  ☾ ☾ ☾

Hannibal had just gotten home the next night and was changing out of his hunting clothes when  Jack called. He answered promptly with his usual polite ‘hello' as he slowly fed his blood-stained clothes into the fire- he had many other extremely similar outfits in his expansive closet for this purpose.

“There's been another," Jack began breathlessly, after returning Hannibal's greeting, knowing the man valued manners above almost everything.

“Another..?" Hannibal asked, knowing perfectly well what the agent was so flustered about. 

“Another murder," Jack said. “In the woods. You were right, Hannibal. Same method, weapons used, same woods."

“Any leads?" Hannibal asked, allowing a hint of concern to creep into his voice.

“No," Jack sighed. “Also, Freddie Lounds got ahold of photos somehow and the information that this is the second kill. She's got an article out already. Calling him ‘the Hunter'."

Hannibal grimaced. He despised Ms. Lounds, having met her on a few occasions. She was an exceptionally rude creature. However, the title she gave was accurate. It sent a rather primal thrill through his gut, like the one he experienced at the thought of the wolf.

“Is there anything I can do?” Hannibal asked graciously. He knew Jack needed a profiler, and if he didn’t find another Hannibal was his fall-back. The only reason Hannibal was not the permanent criminal profiler for the FBI was that he already had a quite successful business as a high-end, well renowned psychiatrist. However, he rather enjoyed the occasional stint as a profiler, as it allowed him into the inner workings of the law and other killer’s minds.

“We found a profiler,” Jack said. “Will Graham. He teaches at the university.” There was a strange quality to his tone, however. Doubt, caution, and a slight hint of regret?

“But..?” Hannibal prompted softly. 

“I’d like you to talk to him. He’s had an odd track record- I want to make sure he’s ok. Would you mind? We’ll pay the usual. I’ve told him there’ll be someone helping with the profile of the killer.”   
“Of course,” Hannibal said, curiosity piqued by Jack’s vague answer. “When do you want me to meet with him?”

“Great,” Jack said, sounding relieved. “Are you free to come to my office any time tomorrow?”

“I am free from three o’clock to five thirty.”

“I’ll tell Will to be there at three.  And be careful, Hannibal, if you must go in the woods.”

“Thank you for your concern,” Hannibal said. “I shall.” 

Jack made his goodbyes, and Hannibal returned them, hanging up the phone and beginning to sweep ashes into the fireplace, breathing in the acrid, metallic smell of burning blood, which began to fade into the usual woodsy smoky scent that fire produced.

☾  ☾  ☾ ☾ ☾

The following day at three o’ clock sharp Hannibal rapped politely on the door of Jack’s office, and stepped inside when he was greeted by a ‘come in,’. Jack sat behind his desk, and another man sat in one of the chairs in front of it; Hannibal assumed this was Will Graham. 

Hannibal walked forward, sat, and observed Graham while Jack introduced them to each other. He was of average height, lean, haggard-looking, with a mop of wild curls, shadowed eyes with dark bags underneath, and rough stubble. Will wore glasses and non-descript jeans with a dull plaid shirt. Hannibal politely shook his hand. When he first saw Hannibal, he frowned slightly and a hint of recognition and a primal panic sparked in his eyes, but it faded as he took in the immaculate suit and pianist’s hands. Hannibal’s brow furrowed slightly. There was something familiar about Will as well, but it evaded his grasp. Shaking off the thought for the moment, he turned to Jack.

“Tell me then, how many confessions?” He began.

“A dozen last time I checked.” Jack sighed.  “None of them knew details. Until this morning. Then everyone knew details. Some genius in Duluth PD took a picture of the second victim’s body with their phone and shared it with a few close friends. Freddy Lounds ran it on Tattlecrime.com.”

“Tasteless,” Will muttered. Hannibal rather agreed. One’s identity was sacred.

“Do you have trouble with taste?” Hannibal asked, turning to Will curiously.

“My thoughts are often not tasty,” The profiler replied grimly.

“Nor mine. No effective barriers.” Hannibal was now completely focused on Will, narrowing Jack out of his mind.

“I make forts,” Will said.

“Associations come quickly,” Hannibal countered.

“So do forts.”

           “Not fond of eye contact, are you?” Hannibal asked suddenly, having noticed the profiler’s eyes, a mix of dark blue, green, and gray hues, avoiding both his and Jack’s.

“Eyes are distracting,” Will grimaced. “You see too much. You don’t see enough. And it’s hard to focus when you’re thinking those whites are really white, or they must have hepatitis, or is that a burst vein? So I try to avoid eyes whenever possible.”

Hannibal almost wanted to smile. Will Graham was turning out more interesting than he had anticipated. Time to rattle the bars a little.

“I imagine what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind. Your values and decency are present, yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love.”

Hannibal saw the faint twitch of surprise and recognition in Will’s face and eyes. He had just described him perfectly. Hannibal felt a faint glow of satisfaction as Will reacted.

“Whose profile are you working on?” Will snapped, then turned to Jack. “Whose profile is he working on?”

“I’m sorry, Will. Observing is what we do. I can’t shut mine off any more than you can shut yours off,” Hannibal apoligised.

“Please don’t psychoanalyze me,” Will growled. A flash of pale golden eyes and dark fur flashed across Hannibal’s mind, unbidden. “You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalyzed. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go give a lecture- on psychoanalyzing.”

Will stood and left the room, body language reminiscent of a stiff-legged, hostile predator. The feeling of deja vu ran through Hannibal’s mind again, and he frowned.

“Keep poking him like that and those Get Smart doors are going to come down faster than you can say ‘Boo’.” Jack cautioned Hannibal. 

“During intense conversations, does he adopt your cadence of speech?” Hannibal asked instead of responding.

“I thought it was a gimmick to get the back-and-forth going,” Jack replied slowly.

Hannibal smiled inwardly. He was right. “It’s involuntary. He couldn’t stop himself if he tried. What he has is pure empathy. And projection. He can assume your point of view, or mine -- and maybe some other points of view that scare him. It’s an uncomfortable gift, Jack. Perception’s a tool that’s pointed on both ends. This cannibal you have him getting to know... I think I can help good Will see his face.”

** ☾  ☾  ☾ ☾ ☾  
**


	2. First Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you have probably already realized, I update very irregularly and not very often. Many, many apologies for that; I am trying to improve.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who enjoyed the first chapter, I was extremely nervous to post a Hannibal fanfic because of all the incredible works in this fandom.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Hannibal waited a week before going out hunting next. He hadn’t talked to Jack much, or seen Will. Time to change that. He was also stocking up for a dinner party he’d been planning. And after all, fresh meat was the best. 

It was all too easy to find a target and drop it. Hannibal was sealing his choice organs inside a cooler when he heard familiar footsteps behind him. He smiled grimly and as he cleaned up around the body, he slowly maneuvered his way closer to his gun, making sure to keep his back to the presence. When he reached it, Hannibal snatched up the gun, raised it to his shoulder, spun around, and fired in one smooth motion.

There was a sharp yelp and a spray of scarlet blood across the brittle autumn forest floor. Hannibal saw the wolf, eyes wide and swimming in pain and panic and a terrible realisation as it took in Hannibal’s face. Blood dripped from its heaving flank, where his bullet had grazed along its ribs. 

The wolf whined with each breath, legs trembling as its gaze locked with Hannibal’s for a long moment before it turned and began to hurriedly stumble away, leaving a trail of velvety red behind on the whispering, dead leaves.

Hannibal watched for a moment before leaving the cleaned scene and the full cooler behind and following, simply grabbing his gun and other tools that could be linked to him and depositing them in his back, rifle slung over his shoulder. He wasn’t worried about leaving the cooler- odds are the police wouldn’t find the scene until tomorrow, and even if they were more competent than usual he had bought the cooler with cash a few weeks ago from a small sporting goods store, and there were no fingerprints or other forensic evidence on it.

So he followed the wolf from a distance as it dragged itself purposefully through the woods. At times he noticed its form almost seeming to become misshapen, growing taller and more bipedal, but then he blinked and it was just a lean wolf. 

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Will almost shifted out of sheer shock when he felt the ripping pain in his side, not to mention the panic and fear when he finally recognized the killer he’d been patrolling the woods looking for for the last two weeks. It was Dr. Hannibal Lecter. The man who’d sat so calmly beside him in Jack’s office and poked around inside his head. Jack’s friend. He was a killer. A cannibal.

But the fear and pain and shock clouded his mind, and he could feel the wolf side of him take over. It didn’t help that he had shifted into his full form, where he had less control over his instincts than ever. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, Will realised that he was leading Hannibal straight to his home, but the wolf side was too strong and it was going to its den to lick its wounds. 

It seemed hours later when he collapsed on his porch, hearing the dogs whine and bark inside, frantic at the scent of Will and wolf and blood. He had left the door unlocked, but Will realised he would have to shift if he wanted to open the door. But he could smell Hannibal at the edge of the forest, watching him, waiting.

After lying on the rough wooden porch, Will came to the unpleasant revelation that if he didn’t get into his house and stop this bleeding, he would die. It was an odd choice- bleed out on his porch with a serial killer watching or live and reveal his dearest secret to said serial killer?

In the end, his body decided for him. When the edges of his vision began to blur and darken, something panicked inside him and decided it was time to shift, at least to half-form.

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Hannibal’s eyes widened, when, after a long period of waiting for the wolf to do something or die, it began to convulse and its body began to change. he could hear the brutal cracks and snaps of bones breaking, as well as various other odd noises as the wolf’s form began to elongate. Legs and body became longer, the toes of the paws longer and more dexterous, the neck and muzzle shortening, joints repositioning themselves. When the noises faded, Hannibal couldn’t resist stepping closer to see the strange new creature. 

It was a humanoid figure, except more thickly muscled, with longer, digitigrade legs, slightly longer arms and a more hunched, broad back. Covered in the same thick brown fur, with the same tail, muzzle, ears, and golden eyes as the wolf, as well as pads and claws on the otherwise almost human ‘fingers’, it looked like some version of a werewolf. 

Hannibal watched, entranced, as it slowly stood, clutching one- hand? paw?- to its wounded side, the other grasping feebly for the doorknob and managing to turn it after a few tries, opening the door with its weight. Hannibal saw that the creature was quite tall, about seven feet in height, though he wasn’t sure based on its tired stoop. He heard frantic whining and snuffling from the dogs inside, but the creature sent them outside, presumably so they didn’t get in the way of him trying to patch himself up. Hannibal cautiously faded back into the woods and circled around to the back of the house, counting on the dogs being too focused on the bleeding creature inside to notice his faint scent. 

As the front door had been, the back was unlocked, and fortunately did not squeak or creak as he opened it smoothly, stepping lightly inside into the dim interior of the house and shutting the door again. He could hear some noises from a room towards the front of the house, and slowly made his way towards it, stepping just as carefully as if hunting a rare type of prey. Which, he supposed, he might just be.

When Hannibal glanced around the corner, the beast was dragging open cabinets in a kitchen-type room, leaving streaks of blood and splintered claw marks in the white wood, doors hanging open as it searched. Finally, with a small grunt of triumph, it clumsily lifted out a first-air pack from a high cabinet and dropped it on the small table by the window. It fumbled open the latch and pulled out gauze, tape, and hydrogen peroxide.

“That’s going to need stitches,” Hannibal said, standing in the doorway. The creature’s spine straightened swiftly, eyes widening, ears pinned back, teeth bared as it turned to Hannibal.

“Calm yourself,” Hannibal said calmly. “I could have killed you, had I desired to.” He began to make his way forward. “The lion is not in the room. When it is, I assure you, you will know.”

The creature did not lash out at him as he approached, though it stayed tense, every muscle quivering. As he drew nearer, a low, whining growl began to rise from its throat. 

Hannibal kept his face impassive as he finally managed to inspect the bullet wound, though he could feel the tight, trembling power of the shaking muscles beneath it. The creature was still making a quiet sound of distress and discomfort, but it had the intelligence and common sense to let Hannibal clean and stitch the wound before wrapping it all in a neat dressing. 

As soon as he finished, it snarled and bared large fangs, hackles bristling along its neck and back. Hannibal smiled and backed away slowly until the warning rumble died down. It observed him with wary, eerily familiar eyes. 

Hannibal could see his soul reflected in the wolf’s gaze.

He could hear the dogs outside now, barking furiously. The beast shifted its focus for a moment, then returned it to Hannibal. It snarled again, approaching Hannibal, tail swishing and legs stiff in a clear warning gesture to get off its territory. 

He smiled, bowed slightly, and backed out of the door. 

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

 

The following day, Hannibal got a call from Jack notifying him that Will had called in sick and thus the psychiatrist’s help with the cannibal profile would not be needed. 

“That is quite unfortunate,” Hannibal replied. 

“Yes, it is. We need to catch this killer,” Jack grumbled. “I’m worried about Will.”

“Would you like me to drop by his house and check on him? I don’t have any appointments until tonight,” Hannibal offered. 

“Yeah, that’d be good,” Jack said. He gave Hannibal the address, gave his customary warning to stay out of the woods, and hung up.

Hannibal glanced down at the address he had written down. It was near the woods where he liked to hunt. Near the wolf. 

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Hannibal felt a strange welling of excitement in his chest, a tightening of sorts, the sound of his heart loud in his ears. The address led to the wolf’s house. 

He walked onto the porch, noting the remaining bloodstains on the white-painted wood, approached the door slowly, and knocked lightly..

After a few moments, the door swung open, a pale, disheveled Will Graham on the other side. The moment he saw Hannibal’s face, fear and shock widened his eyes and he made to slam the door, but Hannibal stopped it as it swung shut. 

“That’s not very polite,” Hannibal noted. Will bared his teeth in a startlingly animal gesture, shrinking back. Hannibal now noticed the bandages wrapped around his chest, and his eyes snapped back to Will’s, pale golden eyes flashing across his mind instead of the dark teal he stared into now with fascinated recognition. 

“It’s you,” Hannibal breathed reverently. “You are the wolf.”


End file.
